Page 31 of Velvet Chains
“Everywhere,” I admitted. “It hurts to swallow. To breathe.”
He sighed. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said. “If I were there, I could make you forget all about it.”
“You’re not here,” I said.
“But you’re thinking about me, right?” he asked. “You’re thinking about me touching your throat, kissing down your chest, sucking on your nipples. You’re thinking about all the ways I can make you feel good so you don’t have to feel like this. That’s why you called me in the middle of the night, isn’t it?”
My breath hitched, the ache between my legs getting worse, begging for relief.
“I should go.”
“You said it yourself. You missed me.”
There was nothing more dangerous than when he talked like this, when he used my words against me. He’d always been good at that, hadn’t he? Saying exactly the right thing to make me break and beg and let him back in. My free hand curled into the sheets, doing anything other than touching myself to the sound of his voice.
“I shouldn’t,” I whispered.
“But you want to.”
I hesitated. “Yes. I do.”
I could hear the smile in his voice when he responded. “Do you want me to talk you through it?”
I felt a sudden, hot rush of blood to my cheeks—humiliation nearly undid me, but the way he asked made me ache more than it should have. Like he would take his time with me, make sure I hurt in all the best ways.
“Ruby,” he said when I didn’t respond.
“Yes,” I said before I could change my mind. Before I could remember all the reasons not to want this from him. This temporary pleasure that never quite seemed temporary enough. “Tell me what to do.”
He exhaled, slow and easy and so fucking sexy I could’ve come from the sound alone. Kieran was like that: effortless, infuriating, everything I wanted and everything I shouldn’t have wanted all wrapped up in one perfectly devastating package.
“You’re so sexy when you’re good for me,” he said. “Lie back. Close your eyes. Pretend it’s me.”
I listened, shutting out everything except his voice. His directions. His sounds. “Imagine how my fingers feel when I slide them inside you,” he said, and I gasped as I did just that—imagined—and slicked two fingers down between my legs.
“Fuck,” he said, breath heavier now, closer to the phone. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you? You were wet for me all night.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said. “Now open your legs. Let me hear how wet you are.”
I spread my thighs and rubbed more insistently until the slick, obscene sound of it was loud enough for him to hear. Loud enough that he groaned deep and guttural into my ear. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re making such a mess for me. I wish I could see it. You’re so beautiful like this.”
“You loved watching me.”
“Yes,” he said. “Makes me hard as fuck to think about. It has for years.”
“Are you—”
“What do you think?”
“Oh God.”
I could hear him unzipping his pants, moving his clothes aside…could practically see his cock, long, scarred fingers wrapped around it. Jesus, I wanted him here. “Pretend it’s my cock,” he said. “Fill yourself up. Go harder. You can do it.”
My fingers obeyed, desperate now, frenzied. I gasped, and the sound made him groan again—made me forget about everything except how he was making me feel right now, in this moment. “Make yourself come,” he said, rough and hungry. “Fuck yourself hard for me.”
The coil tightened and tightened, and it didn’t take long before I was right there, right on the edge. His voice pushed me back a second time: “Good girl. Are you going to come for me?”
